Page 16 of Mine

We got out of the car and headed toward the house. I kept my gaze ahead of me, not on Gary. I imagined Susan Steadhill, bored as hell by having to chaperone her husband into plastic surgery. Gary held the door for me and I brushed by without thanking him. I could tell he was impressed by my acting, at least so far. Well, I didn’t have to do much, did I?

I walked into what looked like a waiting room. Two of the walls were floor-to-ceiling mirrors that made the room seem much bigger than it was. At the front there was a stand with a piece of art on it that looked interesting. But I was Susan Steadhill, and I didn’t know if I cared about art all that much.

Instead, I went straight to one of the leather chairs in the middle of the room and sat down, picking up a magazine. I flipped through the pages of huge houses and manicured lawns. I stopped on an ad for Italian marble countertops. Susan would like this. No,Iwould like this. Maybe I would redecorate my kitchen, I thought. Which marble would I like best? Not the black, that’s too modern. A nice antique look. Cream marble with blue French tile for the backsplash. Yes, that would be nice.

Gary had just stepped up to the counter when a door opened from the back and a man dressed in surgical scrubs came out. I peeked over and saw a glimpse of what looked like a hospital room behind him, white tile and IV stands set up next to a metal table. I feigned a yawn and went back to my marble.

“Mrs. Steadhill?”

My eyes snapped up from the magazine. Both men were looking at me.

“Yes?”

“Hi. I’m Dr. Damore, the anesthesiologist for your husband today. I need you to sign these forms, and we’ll be ready to go.”

Tossing the magazine aside on the table, I got up and went to the counter. It was then that I noticed the doctor. He seemed average when he came through the door, nondescript even, but now that I saw him up close, something about him drew my attention. His eyes weren’t brown, as I originally thought, but a golden, tawny color that seemed to change with the tilt of his head. It was a strange look, handsome but not conventional.A lion, I thought, the image coming to mind as I looked at him.A predator.

I couldn’t help but be attracted to him. Or rather,Susanwas attracted to him. Why wouldn’t she be? He was an attractive man. For a brief, stupid instant, I wished that I could meet him again, outside. Somewhere real, where I could introduce myself. There was something about him that drew me forward even as I held myself back.

“Right here, please. And initial down the back.”

I picked up the clipboard with the form on it and quickly dashed off a signature. Gary looked nervously at me, and I could tell that he was worried I would trip up on the signature. He had no reason to worry, stupid man. IwasSusan.

“How long will this take?” I asked, jotting the initialsS.S.down on each line of the page. I was thinking about later that day, when I would go get a pedicure and spend a few hours visiting with my other trophy wife friends at the wine bar. Maybe I’d stop by the office and meet with an important shareholder. Ho, hum.

“Not long,” the doctor said. “An hour or two at the most.”

I looked back at him, and in that instant my tongue felt thick in my mouth. He was staring at me as though he could see through the surface, down deep inside of me. I swallowed and shifted my gaze to his hairline, where a sliver of dark brown hair could be seen under his surgical cap..

“Good,” I said, trying to regain my original confidence. I handed him the clipboard, and his fingers touched my hand as it passed between us. It was only for a split second, but I felt it like an electrical shock. The pads of his fingers were smooth and delicate, and they stroked the side of my hand. I jerked my hand back, then flipped my hair over my shoulder to pretend like I hadn’t felt a thing. Susan hadn’t felt a thing.

When I looked up at him, though, he was still staring at me with that gaze that seemed to look right through my mask.

I can see you,it seemed to say.I can see the real you.

Rien

“Would you like to come and see the operating room, Mrs. Steadhill?” I asked.

The young woman inclined her head slightly. Her eyes landed on her husband’s face, and he shrugged. A small shrug, almost imperceptible.

“Sure,” she said, turning back to me. “Why not?”

“Why not, indeed?” I said, motioning them both toward the door. Mr. Steadhill held the door open for her and she passed through briskly. There was something strange about her, I thought. She was different from most of the wives who had come through my doors.

Everybody who came into my operating room was guilty of something. I knew that better than anyone, except maybe Vale or the people who paid my salary. But the way she moved gave me some pause. She wasn’t as smooth as I imagined a CEO co-conspirator would be. There was something not quite right about her. Maybe it was the way she looked to her husband for the answer to my question, the way a natural submissive would. She didn’t seem like the mastermind type.

Orders were orders, though.

I led them to the operating room table.

“This is the heart monitor, breathing monitor, blood pressure. We’ll check all vital stats throughout the procedure to make sure nothing goes wrong. I’ll be your anesthesiologist and get you all set up before the surgeon comes in.”

I used to be a great anesthesiologist. It had gotten harder and harder as I went. I put people under, and it was getting too tempting to let them stay there if they deserved it. But that was a long time ago.

“Where are the other staff?” Mrs. Steadhill asked. She looked at me with an expression that made me think she knew who I was. There was no way she knew who I was. There was no way she would have walked into my office if she had known.

“No other staff,” I said brightly. “It’s only me and the surgeon. That’s what you’re paying for, isn’t it? Privacy?”

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